


Heaven To No One Else But Me

by coloursflyaway



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 10:04:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19743454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coloursflyaway/pseuds/coloursflyaway
Summary: “You know, I think I know what the problem is”, Crowley suddenly says, his words so clear they surprise himself. “You’re in love with Her. With God. Still. After all these years, after what She put us through, what She put you through, you’re still so in love with Her that you can’t see."





	Heaven To No One Else But Me

It’s late, so late it’s almost early again, but at least to them time is a construct, so Crowley decides to ignore it, instead pours himself another glass of brandy. They must have finished two or three bottles already, but it’s not enough to make him forget about the dull ache in his chest, which seems to have only gotten worse in the past weeks.  
For Crowley had made a grave mistake: Right after they prevented the Apocalypse, saved themselves, there had been a time in which he had dared to hope.

Aziraphale and he had spent almost all their days together, sometimes talking, sometimes not, sometimes drinking, eating, sometimes just being, Aziraphale with a book in his hands and Crowley flipping through channels on the TV he miracled into existence in an unused corner in the bookshop. It had been easy, had felt like coming home, and that treacherous, desperate part of Crowley’s heart, which he had never been able to frighten into submission, had thought that maybe they had not gone at the same speed, but they had reached a shared destination.

One time, and Crowley remembers that evening more clearly than anything in his existence, Aziraphale had even reached for his hand when they were strolling through London’s streets, had woven their fingers together. The angel had been oblivious to it, like he had been to so many other things, but Crowley next to him had died and come back to life again, Aziraphale’s strong fingers the only thing tethering him to the ground.

And yet, whenever he had tried to take a step forward, hide some deeper meaning in his words, tried to find out if maybe, just maybe, Aziraphale felt a fraction of the love Crowley had carried for the past six thousand years within his chest, the angel had pulled back.   
With a smile on his lips, maybe, with a kind word and a look in his eyes that Crowley couldn’t hope to decipher, but he had pulled back anyway.

Maybe this is Aziraphale pulling away as well, Crowley muses, because there is something in the angel’s gaze that he can’t read as he watches Crowley gulp down half his glass of brandy at once.   
“You know, I think I know what the problem is”, Crowley suddenly says, his words so clear they surprise himself. “You’re in love with Her. With God. Still. After all these years, after what She put us through, what She put _you_ through, you’re still so in love with Her that you can’t see. You can’t _see_.”

The world around them seems to freeze, and Crowley knows just why; because for the first time in all of his existence, he sounds as desperate as he feels.

At first, he can’t quite tell if Aziraphale knows what he is talking about, and part of him is glad for it, after all it is easier to hide behind the façade he has been holding up for millennia, that carefully crafted image made from frightened plants and lunch dates and companionable silence. Crowley is scared, has been scared, of so many things, and yet nothing has ever frightened him so profoundly as the thought of ripping his chest open, scooping out his heart with trembling fingers and getting down on his knees to offer it to the angel, that bloody, beating, bruised thing, unknowing if Aziraphale will mend it or tear it apart for good.

Still, here he is, every syllable that has spilt from his lips doing just that, every tremble of his voice having betrayed a millennium of emotion, and Aziraphale is watching him, not a single muscle of his beloved body moving. It might be better or it might be worse than another reaction, Crowley cannot tell, not when his heart is pounding against his ribs, demanding to be freed of its prison, not when despair is closing off his throat, not when against all reason, there is still a thread of hope holding him together, no matter how much he is straining at the seams.

“Why are you still in love with Her?”, Crowley asks, because it doesn’t matter anymore, he has said too much already. And if he continues speaking, at least the angel can’t. “Why are you still in love with Her, when She has done nothing to deserve any of it, when She has hurt you and pushed you away and let Gabriel and the others almost kill you? Why are you still in love with Her _when I have been here, waiting for you to love me back since the very first moment I laid eyes on you_?”

It’s that last sentence that comes out almost as a scream; it’s the first and the last truth Crowley has been holding onto, the words he thought he would die trying to keep to himself.   
But the world almost ended, he almost lost everything, and just for a moment, it seems like it doesn’t matter. Like he finally severed those last, few heartstrings and can offer Aziraphale the offending organ without suffering the consequences.

He can’t, though, because in the end, there is nothing Crowley has built himself around as much as the impossible love he holds for this oblivious, infuriating angel, and ripping it from his chest would mean to watch himself crumble to pieces.   
And yet, it’s too late, the damage done, so Crowley, still breathing heavily, still holding onto a heart that doesn’t want to be contained, readies himself to pull that last thread free, fall apart at Aziraphale’s feet like he perhaps always knew he would.

A few moments pass in silence; if Crowley could still grasp even a single one of his thoughts and make it real, he’d transport himself somewhere else, to his flat or Japan or Alpha Centauri, it does not matter. Instead, he stays rooted on the spot, unthinking and feeling too much at once, crazed eyes fixed on Aziraphale’s familiar face.   
The angel’s tongue darts out, wetting pink lips, and something inside Crowley breaks, incurable.

“Say something”, he forces out between gritted teeth, aware that he isn’t demanding it, he’s begging.   
“I can’t”, Aziraphale breathes out, his voice brittle and broken and as bruised as Crowley feels. “I would not know what to say, Crowley, my darling – “  
For a second, the demon feels how it would have been to watch the world end, the helplessness, the anger, the all-encompassing grief, the feeling of being torn to shreds, but then Aziraphale leans over in a flurry of arms and cream-coloured fabric and pulls Crowley against his chest.

He’s warm, even through the shirt, solid and soft, and Crowley cannot comprehend what is happening, not until lips are pressed against his temple, the side of his face, his forehead, one of Aziraphale’s hands sliding into his hair.   
It’s Crowley’s arms that understand first, wrap themselves around the angel’s waist, his fingers clutching to the soft, well-worn fabric, then his eyes, that flutter closed. Only then, his heart, the thumping never weakening, but fuelled by something different now, not pain, but something sweeter, brighter, something that Aziraphale seems to want as much as Crowley needs to give it.

“Oh, my love”, the angel mutters into his hair, his lips still leaving kisses on every patch of skin they can find; they feel like pinpricks, a needle guided through his torn flesh to stitch him back together. “If I’d only known, never would I have allowed for you to feel this way. Please, say that you believe me, I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t know how much I care for you.”  
He pulls back, and when Crowley looks at him, he thinks that for the very first time, he might be able to decipher the emotion written across the angel’s face; he knows it, because he’s seen it in his own eyes a thousand times.

“ _Aziraphale_ …”, he murmurs, like he is tasting the name for the very first time, and perhaps, he does.  
“I love Her, of course I do”, the angel tells him, and there is desperation in his tone now, the way his words bleed together. “I couldn’t do anything but love Her. But She’s not the one I pray to every night. She’s not who saved me. She’s not who I’m _in_ love with. She hasn’t been in such a long time.”  
Soft hands come up to cradle Crowley’s face, as if Aziraphale was afraid of him looking away and misreading the message the angel has written into his blue eyes in bright, bold letters.

“I have loved you longer than I realised”, Aziraphale tells him, and Crowley’s heart bursts inside his chest, fills his body up with pain that has been turned sweet by angelic kisses, love that has never burnt hotter than at this moment. “And, being the fool I am, I always thought you knew. I thought –“  
His voice drifts off, then Aziraphale shakes his head, his eyes for a moment leaving Crowley’s, before he looks back up at him, determination written into the slant of his lips, the slight flush on his cheeks.   
“It does not matter”, the angel decides, but as fierce as his words sound, as soft his thumb feels, brushing across Crowley’s cheek; Crowley, who is staring at Aziraphale with wonder, too overwhelmed by what is happening to speak. “It does not matter, because you didn’t know and because I hurt you when there is nothing I ever wanted to do less. Can you forgive me, my heart?”

Aziraphale sounds so painfully earnest, like his heart is breaking as much as Crowley’s did just minutes ago; there are no words that Crowley could say, so he doesn’t.

Instead, he kisses his answer onto the angel’s lips and tastes the love on them.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you want to say hi, send me a prompt, or tell me something nice, you can find me on Tumblr here:  
> [X](http://www.coloursflyaway.tumblr.com)


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